


All That I Have to Lose

by OneforSorrowTwoforMirth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Cara smacking Din with some truth bombs, Childhood Memories, Dealing with past trauma, Deathwatch Dad - Freeform, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Din doesn't know Grogu's name yet, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Gen, Good Parent Din Djarin, Grogu wants to see his dad's face, ManDadlorian, One Shot, Post Season 1, Pre Season 2, a bit of angst, assume i've died, if i ever write anything that doesn't have at least a little angst, parenting is hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28183311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneforSorrowTwoforMirth/pseuds/OneforSorrowTwoforMirth
Summary: Din tries to forget the day he saw his adoptive father's face. But now a father himself, with an increasingly curious child, he's finding it hard to ignore the confusion that he never sorted out.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 119





	All That I Have to Lose

Din Djarin was back on Nevarro, just hours after leaving. He’d forgotten to refuel, which was such an embarrassingly rookie move he almost went to a different town to resupply. But he figured Greef would let him get supplies for free, so he endured Cara’s jibes. Of course, like any trip to Nevarro, it didn’t end with fuel. Then there’d been, apparently, a sighting of retreating troopers and Greef had asked him to go with Cara to make sure they left. They’d made quick work of the remaining imps, but unfortunately trashed their speeders. Then a freak lava tide had forced them to seek higher ground. By that point it was dark and they decided to wait until morning to return. 

Din rested his head against the rough stone formation behind him. Just what he needed. Another night sleeping outside. Despite the assassin droid's effective medical care after the explosion, Din still ached all over. 

Beside him, Cara leaned over the fire, shivering slightly as the wind picked up. He pulled his cape closer. There was a small tug around his ankle. He looked down to see that the child was trying to get at the knife in his boot. Din picked him up. 

“No. That’s not for you.” 

The child, of course, interpreted this as a challenge. He cooed, then began to squirm out of Din’s arms. Din sighed and put him back down. 

“Where’s your ball, kid?” He checked his pockets but couldn’t find it. The child looked at him and cocked his head. “Your ball. The silver shiny thing. What did you do with it?” Din held up his fingers in an approximation of a ball, which the child seemed to understand because he made an excited noise and held out his hand. “No, I don’t have it. I’m asking _you_ if you know where it went.” 

But the child was already distracted by an insect crawling in front of the fire. Din sighed again. 

“I’m never going to get him to sleep without something to distract him.” 

Cara looked through her bag. “Sorry. Nothing in here that a kid should have.” 

“What if you deactivate one of the grenades?” 

“Seriously?” Cara said. 

“Look, if he doesn’t sleep enough it won’t be fun for any of us. Now hand me a grenade.” Cara chuckled, but did as he asked. By the time he had the grenade neutralized, the child had caught the bug, eaten it, and was back to trying to get the knife out of Din’s boot. Din picked him up and handed him the new toy. It was shiny and so satisfied the child enough that he stayed put. 

“We should let the fire burn down,” Cara said. “Don’t want to make it too easy to see us.” 

Din nodded. The child seemed to be settling down, even a little sleepy. 

“Is it uncomfortable?” Cara suddenly asked. 

“What?” 

“Sleeping in the armor.” 

Din shrugged. “You get used to it.” 

The wind picked up and the child shivered. Din carefully took off his cape and wrapped it around the child. The child cooed again and turned his enormous eyes up and looked at Din, unblinking. Slowly, his little hands let go of the grenade, which rolled to the ground, and reached up. 

Din leaned down to retrieve the grenade but as he did, the child's hand gripped the side of his helmet. Din paused. The child cocked his head to the side. He brought his other hand up and rested it on the helmet. Din’s heart skipped a beat as he realized what the child was asking. 

“No,” he said quietly. When the child didn’t move his hands, Din carefully pulled away. The child didn’t say anything, but kept looking at him unflinchingly. 

_This is the way. This is the way._

Finally, he looked back at the fire. Din held perfectly still. 

“What -” 

“Shh,” Din whispered. The child’s eyes were drooping. Just a few more moments, and he’d be asleep. He and Cara both watched the child. 

“How big do you suppose he’ll grow?” Cara asked. “If he’s already fifty, and he’s only that big…I guess there’s just a lot we don’t know about him.” 

Din shifted his hold on the child slightly. He didn’t stir. Good. Silence settled back over them. 

_A lot we don’t know. That’s one way to put it._

He looked down at the child. 

_What was the Armorer thinking? Putting him in my care...I don’t even know his_ **_name_ ** _._

Din had thought of giving the child a name, just to make things easier. Yet something about that felt wrong. After Din had been rescued, he hadn’t spoken for weeks. His father had been patient, content to call him ‘kid’ until Din was ready to give his name. He could do the same for this child.

He’d been running, just trying to keep the kid safe. But if Gideon was dead, did that mean he was safe? Or at least safe enough that they could stay put in one place for a few months? Now what happened? Would he keep running missions for the Guild? That was the only livelihood he knew. But what life was that for a kid? And what if something happened to him? If he was killed, where would that leave the child he’d been charged to protect?

Din hadn’t ever had to have a permanent plan. He’d been free to improvise. After all, it was only his life on the line. No wonder his father had refused to take more than one foundling. 

“He hasn’t ever seen your face, has he?” Cara said. 

Din looked up. “No.” 

“Really? There’s no exception to that rule?”

“No.”

“So he’s really gonna grow up, and never see his father’s face?” 

Din shrugged. “This is the way.” 

Cara shook her head but offered no further argument. They sat in silence again for a few minutes before Din said, 

“Just ask the question. I know you have one.” 

“I was just wondering...did you ever see _your_ guardian’s face? The one who rescued you?” 

Din paused. Then he said, “Once.” 

“Tell me about it?” 

Din almost said no. But before he knew it, he said, “He was dying. A group of warriors were helping a village whose land was being targeted by bandits. The bandits planted a bomb, and he flew it out. He underestimated the time he had to diffuse it.”

Din remembered picking through the wreckage of the blast site, stumbling on the ragged ground as he rushed to his father’s side. Beskar was basically indestructible but, as was drilled into his head a thousand times, it did not make _you_ indestructible. The blast force had broken his spine and caused him to bleed out internally. Shrapnel had lodged itself in the gaps between his shoulder plates. He remembered the way his father’s chest had struggled to rise and fall, how blood seeped out from the helmet and down his neck.

_**Din? Din, where are you?”** _

**_He’d never heard his father so desperate, his voice hoarse and choked. A burned, bloodstained hand reached toward him._**

“How old were you?” 

“I don’t know. It was only a few months before I joined the order. Sixteen, maybe?” 

She said nothing. He was grateful. It was something he liked about soldiers. Civilians wanted to say something about your loss, even if they didn’t know what to say. Most soldiers knew you might as well not say anything. There was nothing to be said that could ease the loss of a brother in arms. Much less a father. 

“I got to him before the other Mandalorians did.” 

**_Carefully, he took his father's hand._ **

**_“Din-”_ **

**_He found his voice. “Here. I’m here.”_ **

“He wanted me to take off his helmet. I said no.” 

_“ **Please, Din. Let me have this.”** _

“I tried to tell him he was delirious. That it was his shock talking.” 

**_The burned hands, slowly reaching for the helmet._ **

“I-” he realized he was crying. It was something he did more often than anyone would’ve guessed. He felt a lot of things people wouldn’t have guessed. The blessing and curse of the creed. 

“In that moment,” he continued, “the thing I was most afraid of was seeing my father’s true face. I knew that if he was taking off the helmet, it meant he knew he would die. I didn’t want to finally see his eyes, only to watch the light in them go out.” 

“But he took it off anyway.” 

“Yes.” 

She looked at him with the firm compassion of someone who understood what it was like to lose everything. “What did he look like?” 

“Surprisingly ordinary. And old.” 

The way the old man had _smiled_ at Din...how he’d rested his hand on the side of Din’s face and smiled. There had been no final whispered words - his last desperate request to remove the helmet had taken all strength for speech. Nothing except that smile, and a few tears that mixed with the blood. 

Din remembered how he’d kissed his guardian’s forehead and closed his eyes. He remembered putting the helmet back on his father before the other Mandalorians arrived because he couldn’t bear the thought of his father not having a warrior’s burial. 

How he’d lied, saying his father passed like a true Mandalorian. 

He feared how easily he’d lied that day. 

_This is the way._

“Do you regret it?” Cara asked. 

“What?” 

“Do you regret that you saw him?” 

“No,” Din said. _Though it’s a betrayal of my creed to even say that._

“Then stop carrying the guilt,” she said, folding her arms. 

_Easy for you to say._

“I know you only want the galaxy to know you as the Mandalorian. But that kid deserves to know you for real, Din Djarin.” 

“This-” 

“Yeah, yeah _this is the way._ I understand you got a creed, you got rules. And I know it’s insensitive of me to say it, but you’re going to have to decide whose needs you put first. You _chose_ the creed. But the kid is going to suffer for it, and he hasn’t had a choice yet.”

Din didn’t know what to say. Cara seemed to realize he wasn’t going to reply and muttered, “Alright, since you’re going to hide behind your mysterious loner routine, I’m going to sleep.” She turned away. 

The child stirred slightly. Din watched his ears. He knew that if they pointed back, he was having a bad dream. The child’s ears twitched but did nothing else. He sighed. 

There was another reason, he realized, he’d been terrified to see his guardian’s face. In the years with him, Din had created his own idea of what might be under the helmet. At first, young as he was, he'd feared his foster father had no face. That beneath the helmet there was nothing but emptiness. But slowly, ever so slowly, he was able to construct an image of his father's face. He could not see his father's expressions, rarely saw even his hands. Words and assurances were often awkwardly or infrequently given.

His father's words were few and dispensed practically, but his actions...those spoke volumes. Din built up an image of who his father was based on those observations, which were doubtless distorted by a child's desire for his father to always be the hero. And he hadn’t wanted that image ruined. Living with lies was so much easier. Lies could be made beautiful and perfect. The truth was always ugly and irreversible. 

But looking at the child, he suddenly understood that his father had probably been just as afraid. Just as terrified that his son would see him for real, and recoil from what he saw. Reject him. 

_I’ve lost almost everything. I can’t lose him too. I didn’t see my father’s face until the end. And I turned out fine._

Another part of him laughed bitterly at that statement. Fine? Sure, if you could count the regret and the guilt that plagued him as “fine.” 

Weeks after his father’s death, he’d finally had the courage to look up his name in the registry. And then there it was, brazenly spelled out on the screen _Redarr Kesyk._ Under it was Din’s own name. Did he really want his child to have to wait until he was dead to piece together who his father really was?

He glanced at Cara, who was already asleep. The child wasn’t stirring either. Slowly, Din began to remove his helmet and set it beside him. The cool night air ruffled his hair. He looked down at the sleeping child, _his_ child. 

He sat there, hoping the boy would open his eyes but desperately hoping he wouldn’t at the same time. 

_This is **not** the way. _

He couldn’t let it be an accident. It had to be intentional. It had to be on purpose. The child had to _see_ him do it. 

Din realized he didn’t have the courage. Not yet. 

So he put the helmet back on. 

He tried to find the most comfortable position to sleep in, which was difficult. He shifted the child to the crook of his right elbow, making sure to angle his arm so that the armor protected the child’s head. He put his other arm behind his head and looked up at the sky. The stars were dazzling this far out in the Outer Rim. He remembered nights like this, on planets like this, his father next to him and naming the stars above them to help him forget how cold it was. He should teach the kid….

The next thing he knew, a metallic clang woke him. He jumped and immediately moved to pull his blaster from his holster and shove the child out of the way. Then he realized the metallic noise had come from the child, who had found a rock, and was experimenting with hitting it on Din’s armor. 

Din sighed. 

The child giggled, and pinged the rock against Din’s shoulder plate again. 

“Ugh.” Cara had woken up. “Guess it means it’s time to get up.” 

They made quick work of taking down camp and Din used the deactivated grenade to lure the child back into the satchel. Din slung his rifle over his back and waited for Cara to collect the rest of her belongings before they set off. 

The only sound for a while was the clink of beskar and wind across the desolate landscape. Cara took a drink from her canteen. After she put it away, she glanced at Din.

“Hey, about what I said -” 

“It’s ok.” 

“I didn’t mean to -” 

“You spoke honestly. I appreciate your motives, even if I might not agree. I...I will think on your words. Is that a fair deal?” 

“Yeah. Fair enough.” 

They kept walking. Din felt the child tug on his arm. He looked down. The child lifted his arms in the air. 

_Alright, fine, you little womp rat._

He hoisted the child out of the satchel and perched him on his shoulder. He giggled and smacked his hand against Din’s helmet to show his approval. 

“Careful. Hold on to something.” 

Din could see in his limited peripheral vision that the kid was eagerly pointing at the horizon, gripping the side of the helmet. There wasn’t much to see, but it made Din smile anyway. 

“Take a good look, kid.” 

They made it back in a few hours. Greef was not happy that they’d managed to destroy two more of his speeders, but said little about it. Cara grasped Din's arm. 

“I hope we’ll be seeing you both,” she said. 

“We’ll see.” He paused. It occurred to him that she just said she _wanted_ to see him again. He glanced back at Greef and was somewhat shocked that the look on the old man’s face said roughly the same thing. They actually _were_ hoping he’d come back sometime. And not just because of his armor and weapons. “Thank you,” he managed. 

Aboard the Razorcrest, Din put the child in his seat, taking care to buckle him in. His foot struck something under the controls. 

“Well, would you look at that.” He held up the ball. The child cooed happily. “Don’t drop it,” he said as he leaned over to hand it back. But the child didn’t take it. Instead, his hand rested again on Din’s helmet, with the same questioning eyes. 

Din took a deep breath and pulled the child back into his lap so he could look him in the eye. “I’m sorry, kid. I - I can’t. Not yet. I’m not ready. Can...can you understand?” Din worked the gloves off his hands and took one of the child's tiny hands in his own. "Will this do for now?"

Slowly, the child curled his fingers around Din’s thumb, like he often did. This gesture usually meant the child wanted assurance. But this was different. The child made a soft sound and Din knew he was telling him it was ok. 

Din gently squeezed his hand. 

“Ok. Thank you, little one. Now, ready to go?” 

He prepared to launch the ship. 

_I promise...I promise I’ll be ready before it’s too late. I promise you’ll know me. I promise you’ll know how much you mean to me._

**Author's Note:**

> Mando s2 spoilers!!
> 
> So fun story, I actually wrote most of this fic before I watched the s2 finale and wow it actually really works??? I had been keeping the setting ambiguous since I wasn't sure if the season would end with Din showing Grogu his face. The only time it made sense for Cara and Din to be together was in between seasons, but unfortunately that means Din doesn't know Grogu's name so I had to go back and write "the child" a million times. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm really emo about soft dad man and his lil boy. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed!


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